In the Blackest of Rooms
by Mermaids
Summary: A tendershipping fic exploring the shifts Ryou and Bakura must experience in their dynamic in order to truly earn the name tendershipping. Expect some puzzleshipping cameos. -update- It's official, you guys. I now have  plot. :U
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hey friends! This is my first tendershipping fic, and for that matter my first Yu-Gi-Oh fic. I'm doing a trade with my good friend and roommate lauradisenchanted. So this is the result.

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><p>"Ryou, what homework did we get in algebra?"<p>

"Oh, er, I believe it was pages 34 through 37-"

"Ha ha, as if Joey's actually going to do his homework! He'll probably call me Sunday night asking for help!"

"Ah, shaddap Tristan. Ryou's got my back. Right, Ryou?"

"Ah, right!"

"Hey, if you guys want, we could work on it together this weekend. That way we can all keep each other from procrastinating and we'll still get to hang out."

"Great idea, Yug! When are ya free?"

"Tonight works for me."

"I have to work right after school and all weekend. Sorry, guys!"

"Tea, didja sell your soul to that restaurant or are they actually paying you? Ditch 'em and hang out with your friends!"

"Joey Wheeler when I save up enough money to study dance in New York and become a world-class performer I will send all of my friends free tickets to come see me and you'll have to ask them how amazing I was because you won't be invited!"

"Sheesh. Calm down, I was only teasin' ya."

"So, um, where do you guys want to meet? My grandpa's trying to coordinate a bunch of new shipments, so he probably won't want us getting in the way . . ."

Tension coiled inside of Ryou. Situations like this were difficult for him. Ryou, who liked to play it on the safe side. Ryou, who always looked before he leapt. He tried giving himself a pep talk.

_Do it. Just do it. Just say the words. Oh, hey, how about my flat? My dad's out of town. They're not going to laugh at you. They won't give you weird looks like you're speaking out of turn, like you're that one person in the group they don't actually like having around. They're nice. They're your friends. Friends . . ._

Something in the back of his mind shifted very subtly, almost beyond his perception.

The inner monologue he was maintaining to build himself up changed track.

_Friends shouldn't be this difficult to ask over. They're supposed to make everything come naturally. Maybe they're not really friends. Maybe they're just nice people taking pity on the sad little foreign kid. Good for them, making a little charity case out of poor Ryou. Getting their service hours. Their good deed for the week. Well, they've done enough. They pretended to include you. That's enough of that; more of their pity isn't needed here._

Ryou suddenly made up his mind, and spoke up. "Right, well, I think my dad's planning on being home this weekend, so we'll probably be spending time together." Yugi looked away from Tristan and Joey, who were squabbling again, and smiled. "That sounds nice! You don't see your dad very much do you, Ryou?"

_Are you genuinely interested, or just relieved I've taken the trouble to bow out?_

"No, I don't. He travels quite a bit for his work, of course."

The bell rang, and the volume of the chatter took a sharp upswing and was joined by the clamor of possessions being grabbed and desks being re-arranged.

"Okay then! I hope you have a good weekend with your dad!"

_Right. With my dad._

Ryou walked back to the apartment he mostly lived in by himself. There was a furnished spare bedroom and the study filled with carefully labeled and sorted archives of his father's work, but his father rarely spent nights and he used the study for homework. He knew fully well that the most contact he could expect would be a postcard. He knew fully well he would be spending the weekend alone.

Somehow, though, Ryou felt triumphant and a little defiant. He didn't need them. He didn't need to feel included because he was so used to solitude. Of course he believed in being a good person, in giving help where it was needed, but sometimes he worried about trying too hard. He worried about going out of his way and being a nuisance just for some recognition, even though he never hesitated when actually called upon. It was always small things: hold the door for me? Help me with this problem? Can I borrow some change? Even father- go to bed now, there's a good boy. Hush now. Play with your toys. Play outside. Busy . . . Papa's busy right now. Make yourself useful, Ryou. Sort these photos for me. See the numbers on the back? Good lad. You're helpful, Ryou. Thanks for helping me with that essay. You've been a great help. No one ever trusted him with their secrets, with their worries. He was simply useful; simply used.

It was cool outside, with a light breeze stirring his hair. Book bag slung over his shoulder, Ryou tilted his head back and watched the ragged clouds, tossed and pulled apart like loose cotton by some higher altitude wind.

_You don't need them just like they don't need you. You don't need anyone and no one needs you. Right?_

But something about that didn't quite sit right. There was a little nagging, like he'd half-forgotten some close childhood friend that had once made him feel important. Maybe it was just a human tendency to exaggerate self-importance, that instinctive need to find a deeper meaning and an ultimate place and purpose in the universe. But still it nagged at him, like a homework assignment he couldn't quite recall. He sighed loudly through his nose, and decided to push the issue out of his mind. A detour to the post office seemed like a good idea, and he could pick up something to invent dinner with at the nearby convenience store. Shifting his bag to a more comfortable position (the algebra textbook wasn't too heavy), he ambled on.

At the post office, his P.O. box proved to indeed have a postcard for him.

_Greetings from sunny wherever, eh?_

Ryou rubbed the glossy picture with his thumb, contemplating the architecture picturesquely lit in rose hues by some foreign setting sun. Recalling something his father had taught him, those multi-lobed arches and windows and the domed roof put him in mind of the Middle East. The groves around the walls looked suspiciously like orange trees.

_They must smell lovely when they flower and bear fruit . . . _

He carefully stashed the postcard in a pocket of his book bag.

At the store, he smiled at a display of oranges and put three of the fragrant fruits into a plastic bag. Browsing the aisles, he chewed his lip while wondering what to buy for dinner. He briefly considered buying enough gummy bears and chocolate candies to fill a large cereal bowl, and then discarded the idea in favor of trying to behave like a responsible adult. Ryou eventually settled on a single-serving packet of minestrone soup flavoring. There should be enough pasta left and some frozen vegetables to flesh it out at home.

He checked out and made his way across the street to the apartment complex, absently clutching the paper bag. The apartment was large and clean and empty. He put his things down on the island in the kitchen and looked through the cabinets for a fruit bowl. He found a hand-carved dish, made of olive wood from Israel or Jordan or somewhere like that. Something his father had brought back once. Oranges in the bowl, bowl on the counter. They brightened the cool tones of the kitchen, making it look more lived in, albeit in a catalogue living sort of way. Ryou liked keeping everything clean and orderly. It gave him something to do, at the very least. He also believed that living alone required quite a lot of discipline. It would be all too easy to leave the dishes unwashed, to not make his bed, to leave his clothes on the floor. But there had to be standards. Spending all day in his pajamas wasn't healthy, and just encouraged the antisocial behavior he already had a predisposition to indulge in. He knew the difference between being alone and being lonely.

Eating dinner while poring over his algebra homework, he casually punched some numbers into his calculator and half-listened to the news on the television. Juggling three mundane tasks made him feel better about the fact that he was doing absolutely nothing interesting.

_Does doing all the boring rubbish at once make it better or worse? I guess you could say both. It's pretty terrible but you get it over with faster._

Later, he washed the dishes, and leaned back against the counter with a sigh. Looking at the light fixture on the ceiling without really seeing it, he mused.

_Are you really content with this, Ryou? You had a fascinating Friday night doing homework and checking up on current events and the weather. Other blokes are out getting smashed, or at least hanging with their mates. It could be nice, to go out just for laughs. Go to a club or something. Dress up like a bondage slave. Dance to music that will make you go deaf prematurely. Get your arse grabbed by total strangers and come home at three in the bloody morning smelling like an ashtray and fall asleep with your head in the loo. Yeah, thanks but no._

Laughing to himself, he decided to call it an early night. Setting his alarm, he resolved to get up early and go the park when it was still quiet and empty and a little cool.

He woke up with a start, and could immediately tell by the light shining in his large bedroom window that something was off. "Bloody hell!" he cried, looking at his alarm clock. Somehow, he must have turned it off and gone back to sleep, because it was now 12:47 p.m. He stared at his clock in disbelief, almost expecting it to do something impish to further annoy him. He stood and stretched, feeling unusually stiff and cramped and hungry. There was a spot on his neck that ached. Splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom to try and wake up more, he noted he looked a bit more haggard than expected. His head also ached. Probably a result of oversleeping. Yes, sleeping more than usual would definitely make you look more tired. Or something like that. He pulled a brush through his long white hair, taking no further notice of his appearance. He threw on a pair of jeans and a striped shirt and headed out to the convenience store for lunch.

Ryou grabbed a clear plastic container of sushi rolls, and turned and bumped into Tea Gardener.

"Ryou! Hey there! What are you up to?"

"Hello, Tea. I'm just here to grab some lunch."

He rubbed the sore spot on his neck.

"Oh, me too! I'm on break from work. They have pretty good sushi here, even if it is ready-made. But burgers get old pretty fast, you know?"

"I can imagine," he said with a smile, and headed towards the front of the store with Tea to check out.

"I notice you're getting just the one serving. Does your dad not like sushi?"

"He's not home this weekend," Ryou answered honestly before remembering that Tea had been there when he made his excuse.

"I mean, he couldn't make it."

"That's too bad! Looks like we both have sucky weekends, huh? But it's worth it! Just gotta stay focused, right?" The familiar, vaguely manic gleam Tea got in her eyes whenever she imagined her future had appeared.

"Right! Focus! You'll be in New York before you know it, Tea!"

She smiled and laughed. "Aww, thanks Ryou! I almost feel better about serving those ungrateful customers. Almost. Well, back to the coal mines!"

Tea waved and jogged down the sidewalk. Ryou hoped she would be distracted enough to forget meeting him, lest the others find out about his little falsehood. Well, he had recovered smoothly enough. Hopefully it wouldn't matter.

_Good riddance. Let's just hope she doesn't run her big mouth. _

Ryou stopped, a little taken aback by the sudden viciousness of the thought.

_You can't think like that. You can't think like that about your friends. So stop. _

_Rude little blighters, though, always prying like that._

Ryou didn't even notice where he was going, blindly following the path back to his dwelling out of reflexive memory.

_But why can't they just leave well enough alone? Everyone could stand to mind their own business a little more carefully._

_Even though it's perfectly acceptable to be interested in someone else's life._

_Especially if it serves your own purposes, like finding something to hold over their heads._

_But you should never do that to someone who trusts you! Personal things, secrets, are meant to be cherished._

_Yes, cherished after you wrest them from their owners. You cherish them for their market value like any other commodity._

He found himself standing in the entryway, still numbly holding the box of sushi, hunger forgotten.

_You know how it goes. It's just a game of taking more than you give. Of thieving._

"I'm not a thief!" Ryou shouted aloud.

Laughter.

Horrible laughter rang throughout the kitchen. Mocking, patronizing laughter that knew everything about him and found it all contemptuous. The laughter that almost couldn't believe the life he led, how tame it was and how worthy of ridicule. The laughter that woke him up some nights in a cold sweat, unsure whether he had heard it solely in his dreams. Awful laughter that was coming from his own mouth.

He stopped.

Hyperventilating, he dashed into the bathroom and started dry heaving into the sink.

Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes as his empty stomach attempted to purge itself. His mind reeled.

_The laughter. The cruel thoughts. The irrational desire to be alone. You know what these are symptoms of, Ryou. Oh god, even waking up late and still feeling tired-_

Frantically, still suppressing retches, his scrambling fingers pulled the long hair away from his neck. There, where he noticed his neck aching when he woke up. A mottled pattern of purples and reds fanned out from a central, darker bruise on his neck. The lacey edges on the hickey might have almost been pretty.

He met his reflection's gaze. The soft brown doe eyes, normally considered kind and thoughtful-looking by his friends (and alluring by his admirers) were wide with panic. The light, English complexion now bleached to paper white by a heart that had missed several beats.

Then suddenly, he wasn't looking at himself anymore. Another person held his gaze. Another person with wild hair and burning sepia eyes and an animalistic smile that seemed to be made entirely of pointed teeth. He grinned fiercely and tossed his head, flipping untamed bangs out of his face.

/_What's wrong? Not happy to see me?/_

Ryou stumbled backwards and fell. He couldn't look away from the horrible face, and it only broke eye contact with him to laugh at his fear.

_/Oh, come now. Surely I'm not all that bad? We were pretty popular last night. Well, I was. You can be such a wallflower when you're unconscious./_

_/No! You can't be here! You can't be controlling me! I won't let you!/_

The face stopped grinning and became serious.

_/Look, Ryou, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Just cooperate with me! You might even learn to like it . . ./_

_/Leave me alone!/ _Ryou all but mentally screamed. His heart was racing, his jaw clenched.

"That's enough!"

Long hair hung over him, trapping his gaze. There were hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the cold tile. Something circular and heavy weighed on his chest, sapping his energy to fight. To fight back. The face became a frosty sneer.

"That's how you want to be? Fine. I'll just take this, then."

Long, pale fingers lifted the Millennium Ring from around Ryou's neck. Bakura stood up, leaving Ryou on the floor to stare up at him in terror. An otherworldly light shone from his eyes as he held up the artifact in triumph. He glanced down at Ryou, and the mirth left his face.

"You're playing a game you can't win, hikari."

He placed the Millennium Ring around his own neck. There was a blinding light, and Ryou thought no more.

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><p>So that's it for Chapter 1! Read and review if you want Chapter 2 to go up. Also, go thank lauradisenchanted and check out her puzzleshipping fic, Tunnels to Gates of White, because I'm basically writing this so she will write me fluffy goodness. Aw yiss. Not even kidding, she's pretty freaking awesome.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Chapter 2 up in less than a week? WHAT.

Also, forgot to say thanks to GeorgieMcsleuthington when I first put this chapter up!Here's moooore!

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><p>Ryou woke to pounding. His head was pounding, and someone was insistently beating on the door to his apartment. He realized he was face down on the floor of his bedroom and tried to push himself up, but the room spun viciously. Crawling to the trashcan, he retched. There was food and drink he didn't remember consuming, and a terrible taste in his mouth. He felt wretched. He decided it was worth it just to lie on the floor for a moment longer and allow for the fact that he felt like utter shit.<p>

_So this is Bakura's retaliation . . . that fuck._

Ryou wasn't so naïve that he thought Bakura had poisoned him or something equally insane (although he wouldn't put it past the deranged spirit). He knew he had one hell of a hangover.

"Come . . . coming!" he cried weakly, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

"Ryou! You're in there!" The voice sounded like Yugi? What was Yugi doing here? Ryou realized he had no idea what time it was, or even what day. Fuck. Clinging to the wall and then the doorframe, he hauled himself up and stumbled to the door.

"Hi . . ."

"I ran into Tea and- holy Ra, Ryou! Are you okay?"

Ryou moved away from the door and Yugi stepped inside, wide eyes full of concern for his friend.

"I'm . . . it's just . . ." Ryou found his face working to find equilibrium between hysterical laughter and broken sobs. He settled for collapsing into a chair at the table. He didn't know where to start. He didn't even know if he looked as bad as he felt. Probably worse.

_Then again, if anyone would understand this insanity, it would be Yugi . . . maybe I could give it a shot and trust a friend._

For once, the negativity was silent. Ryou didn't know what to make of that. Hopefully his darker side had exhausted himself for a while.

Yugi had pulled up the other chair to sit next to him.

"Ryou, hey, do you need to talk about this? You know I'm here for you, right?"

Anxious violet eyes met pained brown ones.

_Deep breath. You can do this._

Ryou shut his eyes and inhaled shakily.

_Here goes nothing._

"Well, um, as you are aware, the spirit of the Millennium Ring sometimes takes control of my body."

"Go on."

"It's just- I thought that-" He buried his face in his hands, willing himself not to completely lose all self-control. That was the ticket. He had to maintain control of himself; that's what all this was about anyways.

"I thought I had this handled," he breathed. "I thought that if I just took everything easy, and kept a schedule and kept organized and just- just kept everything together, he wouldn't do this. There would be no weakness for him to take advantage of, but he was still so angry!"

Ryou looked up suddenly, eyes wide with fear and staring blankly across the table. His hands were tangled in his hair in a gesture of wild desperation.

"Ryou."

The voice had suddenly changed. He realized he was talking to Yami now.

Hands wrapped around his, gently taking them away from his head and placing them on the table to set the overwrought teen in a calmer pose.

"Ryou, you need to understand something. It is true that there is darkness in all of us, and we must strive our utmost to overcome that."

Ryou nodded in acknowledgment, not quite feeling up to meeting the pharaoh's eyes just yet.

"But you must know that the spirit that inhabits the Millennium Ring _isn't you_. He is a separate entity with his own darkness, and his own will. When he enforces that will on you, he is allowing his darkness to win. Not the other way around. Do you understand?"

Ryou managed to look up at the wine colored eyes and nod.

"You need to know that when he does that, it's not your fault."

"I . . . I know that."

"It's not your fault."

Ryou bit his lip and attempted a smile.

"I know."

Yami gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not your fault."

He broke, then. His head fell forward, chin almost touching his chest. Tears streamed silently down his face. No anguished sobs came forth as his shoulders shook noiselessly. Yami's hand remained, a comforting presence that did not violate a personal space that was barely even his anymore. Eventually, he stopped. He gave a deep, cathartic exhale.

"Thank you."

Yami nodded.

"Where you go from here, however, is something I leave up to you."

And then Yugi was sitting in front of him. Ryou sniffed and managed a genuine smile at his friend. He felt slightly weak, but not tired, as if he had recovered from a long fever. Or a thorough cry.

"Yeah. Yami can be like that," Yugi said with a soft smile.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll go dunk my head in the sink."

"Okay. Do you want me to go or . . .?"

"I would really appreciate it if you stayed. It's a great comfort to have a friend around right now."

"Sure thing, Ryou."

Ryou got up and walked to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror.

_Blimey . . ._

And then his words pretty much failed him. To say that his hair was disheveled would be like saying that Mako Tsunami was mildly fond of the ocean. It stuck out in innumerable, gravity-defying angles that Ryou had not even thought possible for hair to achieve. There was also the unmistakable sheen of product. His face was still a bit ruddy from crying, but his tears had also apparently caused copious amounts of eyeliner he didn't even know he owned to run down to his jawline. As for his clothes, well, he sensed Bakura must have caught his train of thought related to dressing like a bondage slave and decided to have it come back to haunt him. He also could not fail to notice uneven patches of glitter clinging to him from head to toe. To tie it all together, he was pretty sure most of his sleeping must have taken place on a dirty floor. Ryou took a step back and started laughing.

_At least it can't get any worse, eh Ryou?_

He wiped his face as clean as he could with a soaked washcloth and decided to tackle his hair later. After quickly changing into a T-shirt and sweatpants, he rejoined Yugi.

"You're looking better!"

"Yeah. I think I've managed to accept that what's happened has happened. I think. But . . ." His face fell a bit, the comic mood set upon seeing his ridiculous appearance replaced with trepidation for the future.

"You don't know how to take the next step?"

He nodded and sat down at the table.

"Well, let's look at the positive details. You're aware that another presence inhabits your mind. That's a start. You also know that it's a spirit connected to a Millennium Item, not simply another part of your personality. These things may seem obvious, but these are two facts I had to come to terms with myself that helped me better understand my relationship with my yami."

"So there's someone else using my body, and it's an ancient Egyptian spirit. Not some sort of alternate personality. Yugi, am I supposed to be comforted by any of this? Because frankly it's still just as disturbing."

"Just stay with me. These things aren't really comforting in and of themselves, but you can at least know that it's the truth. Now, going only on that information, what would you want to know next?"

"Er, a name? But I mostly just call him Bakura. So . . . next I would try to find out what it wants from me. But he just wants a body! That's why he takes mine whenever my guard is down, and I have to constantly keep him out of my consciousness!"

Ever since Ryou had discovered that the spirit had no scruples about stealing his physical person, he had trained himself to ceaselessly fight it off. By keeping his life simple, there were no major distractions or emotional upsets to drain his mental energies. At first, it had worked. The thief was blocked by his constant vigilance. But as time wore on, the trapped spirit grew more and more frustrated until his violence and anger were beyond anything Ryou had the power to counter. That was when Ryou would wake up in strange places with large chunks of time he couldn't account for. Then he wouldn't hear from the spirit for a while. Assumedly, it needed time to recover. He would be lulled into a false sense of security. Then gradually, oh so gradually, the negative thoughts would come back. He would start having nightmares that upon waking he could only remember as a paralyzing fear. By the time he started isolating himself and realized what was going on, it was too late. The cycle had started over.

"So . . . you've never really talked to him about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, really. He's just a thief."

"I see. Well . . ." Yugi shifted uneasily. "You may not want to hear this, but I think that instead of fighting him, you should try some communication. It sounds like he's only fighting fire with fire when you resist."

Yugi was right: Ryou did not want to hear that. He forced himself to remember that Yugi was doing the best he could to help, and that when it came to maintaining a healthy relationship with the ancient Egyptian spirit you were host to, his friend had a lot more experience to offer.

"I'm not saying give in or anything like that," Yugi said quickly, seeing the veiled despair on his friend's face. "Just try to get a few sentences out of him."

"Right. I'll . . . I'll try that. No, really, I will, don't give me that look," Ryou actually chuckled. "But when I end up on the evening news for robbing a museum or something, you bloody well better come visit me in prison."

Yugi beamed at him, relieved to hear some humor, dry as it was.

"I'll bring you a gift basket."

"You're one of the best people a bloke could ever have for a friend, Yugi."

They both stood up, and Yugi moved to give Ryou the bro-est of taps, but he backed off with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, you probably don't want to hug me right now. I probably smell like booze and shame; I'm in dire need of a shower."

His friend laughed, and settled for gingerly patting his shoulder. He rested his hand there for a moment, holding Ryou's gaze.

"Hey, call me or something later, okay? Yami and I want to make sure you're okay. Someone could come over if you need."

Ryou assured him he would.

He stared at the door for a few moments after Yugi had left, not really reflecting on their conversation, but how Yami and Yugi could be so very different. They had different insights and different advice, but at the same time, they both proved to be very good friends. The light and dark played off each other so well that Ryou never would have guessed the strange circumstances of their relationship. It made him marvel at the world's oddities, and he dared to hope. Just a little.

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><p>I did my part. Now you do yours: review!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Chapter three whaaaaaat! I am a _machine_. So show me some digital love and review. It's the only affection that will reach my cold robot heart.

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><p>After what felt like the longest hot shower of his life, Ryou flopped on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Unable to stand the silence, he turned the television on so he could listen to a report about a possible rain shower moving down the coast and not care.<p>

_So . . . you're supposed to sit down and have a chat with the half-crazed klepto that habitually steals your body and returns it tired, beat-up, and lost. What does he even _do_ while he's running around in borrowed shoes? Pickpocketing seems likely. Also robbing jewelry stores. The bugger probably can't resist something shiny. Also-_

He put a hand up to his neck and cringed.

_Let's not think about that just now. If he is thieving, which seems entirely likely, he must be stashing his ill-gotten gains somewhere, or have some sort of cashbox._

Ryou briefly envisioned a shadowy figure climbing the fire escape of some abandoned textile factory in the rough part of the city, a dark bag slung over one shoulder, slipping out of sight through a broken window. He could almost hear the self-satisfied cackle of the bandit as he pawed through gilt and jeweled items to be fenced, or perhaps saved as trophies. Ryou realized he was romanticizing; something like stolen KaibaCorp electronics would be much more likely to end up stashed in the factory. Or warehouse. Or wherever. But if there was indeed such a hoard, Bakura was sure to be protective of it. Which meant that Ryou might be able to gain some leverage over the spirit.

_That's ridiculous, though. You'll never manage to find it, if it even exists . . . and maybe you're going about this the wrong way. Extortion isn't likely to endear you to him. Yugi said that he's just fighting fire with fire. So if I had only pushed him that much harder- ye gods, he might've threatened to burn down the apartment._

Ryou got a slight chill as he realized the mistake in his frame of mind and narrowly avoided arson. Sitting up too quickly, his head throbbed and his stomach lurched. He got a bottle of water out of the fridge and started sipping it, trying to remember if he had anything in the way of aspirin in the medicine cabinet. He thought he had taken the last of it a week or two ago, but looked anyways. There turned out to be an unopened bottle sitting in the customary spot. He frowned slightly.

_Ah, must've bought some more. But when?_

He toyed with the idea of the malicious entity actually thinking far enough ahead to anticipate the situation where Ryou would be seeking pain relievers and deciding to remedy it, but that seemed a bit far-fetched. For all of his imaginative power, he simply couldn't realistically picture Bakura browsing the medicine aisle of some 24-hour shop, decked out in platform boots and far too much skin-tight leather. His lips twitched at the image.

_Wonder if he's ever seen The Matrix . . . well, I have. So I guess he technically has?_

But then, how did that work? Did Bakura know and remember everything Ryou knew and remembered? Or could he shuffle through Ryou's mental past only when he felt like it? That was an unpleasant thought. It also occurred to Ryou that this was probably the most intentional thinking he had done about the spirit in a long time. Usually, whenever he woke up and couldn't remember falling asleep (or where he had been for the last eight to twelve hours), the last thing he wanted to think about was Bakura. He simply wanted to recover and stay as far away from the thief's mind as possible. But Yugi said they needed to communicate. Well, what better time to try and just talk to him, when forcing another's body to do his bidding had depleted all of his energy reserves?

How did one talk to Bakura?

_/Um, Bakura?/_

Silence.

_/Hello? Bakura! Spirit of the Ring!/_

Unyielding silence.

_/Thief King!/ _

Obstinate silence.

_/Look, I am fairly certain you can hear me. I just want to talk. No harm can come of it, right?/_

Impudent, stubborn silence.

Ryou exhaled into his water bottle, and swiftly downed a third of the water along with the aspirin.

_/Right then. I'll let you alone, shall I? Well, thanks very much for the aspirin, if that was you./_

_No harm in giving him the benefit, at this point. Maybe simply being consistently nice to him will pay off._

He pictured the feral smile, the crazed eyes, the tangled hair, and his fear returned. He was supposed to be nice to that. The thing that stalked his subconscious, feeding on his every insecurity and doubt. Laughing at him while he slept. Preying on him when he weakened. He set his water bottle on the counter and wrapped his arms around himself for comfort.

_You can do this, you can do this, you can do this. Breath. Yami and Yugi think you can. You've got your friends to back you up. Oh, right, they'll be expecting a phone call._

It hadn't even been two hours since Yugi had left, so Ryou decided it might still be too soon to call anyone. Now what? Attempting some semblance of normalcy was appealing. His homework was done, and sitting alone in the apartment and studying just because he couldn't think of anything better to do with himself did not sound entirely healthy. He had never gone to the park, like he had planned. It was early in the afternoon on Sunday, now. There would most definitely be people. At the moment, being surrounded by strangers sounded more safe than terrifying. The spirit surely wouldn't attempt to possess him out in the open, where someone might come to his aid. Yes, the park would be good for him.

Ryou changed out of his sweatpants and into a comfortable pair of jeans, pulling a on an unbuttoned, long sleeved shirt over the T-shirt. He stretched, and armed himself with the most positive attitude he could muster before facing the mirror and making sure that his hair fell strategically in front of his neck.

Pausing to look out of the window, Ryou noted that the sky had become overcast and remembered the weather channel's prediction of rain. Still determined to get some fresh air, he exchanged the button up shirt for a light weatherproof jacket and stashed a compact umbrella in one of the roomy pockets.

When he got to the park, there was yet to be any hint of the impending precipitation, but there were still fewer people than he had anticipated. He walked at a relaxed pace along the sidewalk around the periphery of the park without taking in his surroundings, attempting to listen to the empty darkness of his mind for the hint of another, of an alien presence. When nothing was forthcoming, he actually started paying mind to his environment. There was a couple sitting on one of the benches in the distance, casually conversating. He couldn't tell what their relationship was; were they a pair of lovebirds, or just two sparrows on the same branch? Something in him twinged with longing. What did it feel like to be paired up like that? Was it lovely to have someone around that liked you and was nice to you, and told you all the things you were insecure about were perfectly okay and in fact endearing? Someone who knew your limits, and was comfortable just being around you in a silent exchange of affection, no words or caresses needed to define and demonstrate the bond between you. Ryou wondered what it would feel like to just be in someone's presence and have that presence reassure him that he wasn't going to hurt anymore, and that the world wasn't as ugly as it might seem. He realized his path was going to take him right by the couple, and Ryou had no desire to hear their twittering. He turned to the left to the crosswalk, intending to leave the park in favor of the city. He reached the corner and noticed a slender figure standing near the street sign.

It was a boy- was that a boy? Ryou realized he was ogling and blushed. The person looked so exotic, with sun-kissed skin that must stay bronzed year round and seemed like it would be warm to the touch. Pale hair, the color of straw, came to their shoulders in bold layers. A foreigner? It was near enough to the airport that this seemed plausible.

_Chance taking time?_

His heart sped up. It seemed at once maddeningly simple and painfully complex to walk up and say hello. Even if he could get himself through that, Ryou was almost certain he would mess up the small talk and end up convincing this stranger he was a serial killer, fumbling over basic questions because he was the type to get twitchy and nervous in the anticipation of ensnaring a new victim. That would be fun, having the police called on him. Bakura might even be proud. Maybe he should just continue through the rest of his day and forget this pretty person.

_Maybe playing it safe time._

The person turned around to look at the street sign- oh, it was a boy- with a delicate brow knitted in puzzlement above eyes that were pale blue with a trace of mauve. Ryou found himself unable to look away. This boy had the most striking coloring, and seemed to have fearlessly augmented his already prominent eyes with bold, angular lines of kohl. The entrancing gaze strayed downwards and caught sight of Ryou, still trapped by indecision.

"Oh, hey! Are you from around here? I'm a little lost!" the stranger gave a dazzling grin, apparently completely unembarrassed by his lack of familiarity with the city.

The voice snapped Ryou out of his reverie. It was unusual, slightly higher than he had expected and almost effeminate. There was the unmistakable lilt of an accent, so he was definitely not using his native tongue.

Realizing he was about to be forced into the very social interaction he had been contemplating avoiding, Ryou desperately tried not to panic and directed his mouth to form a warm, friendly curve upwards.

"What do you need help finding?"

_Was that okay? That doesn't scream serial killer, right? Oh, forget it. You're just going to have to give it your best shot now._

"There's a museum somewhere around here, right? I've got the address with me, hang on . . ."

He fumbled through multiple pockets on his dark cargo pants, eventually retrieving what Ryou recognized as the business card for the local museum his father sometimes worked with.

"Oh, I know that place! My father works with them. You're not too far from it, actually."

He hoped the personal detail wasn't too much too soon, and would encourage the stranger to trust him for the next few blocks.

"Really? That's so funny, I'm actually in the country on 'business'," the teen said, rolling his eyes on the last word. "Since we're on the subject-" he held one hand out towards Ryou, the other jauntily akimbo, "my name is Marik Ishtar. I work as a consulting translator for Domino City's sister museum in Egypt."

Ryou took the boy's hand, noting that he had calluses on the palm of his hand and on the space between his thumb and index finger. There were also a number of bangles made of some sort of dusky metal encircling his wrists. Spotting this detail lead him to notice more metal bands around his upper arms and neck, as well as dangling earrings all made of the same material.

_How very exotic . . ._

He seemed to be Ryou's age, and Ryou wondered how he was working an international job instead of going to high school. He also noted that his new acquaintance had eagerly returned his daring to venture a personal detail without hesitation, and allowed himself to feel rather pleased at this small success.

"My name's Ryou. It's a pleasure to meet, you Marik. I'd be happy to show you around."

"Thanks! I shipped my luggage ahead of me straight to the museum; otherwise I would have a map. So I guess it's lucky that I had that business card on me!" He paused, and his smile shifted from that of an enthused tourist to something more mischievous. "And lucky that I found you."

Ryou felt himself color slightly.

_Is he being flirtatious?_

"Right then; shall we be on our way?"

Marik gave another one of his brilliant smiles and bounded up next to Ryou with a puppy-like enthusiasm. He stood a little closer than Ryou would have expected from someone he just met, but this boy seemed like the type that never really felt out of place.

_Maybe personal space isn't as much of a thing in Egypt . . . not that you've really got a problem with that, eh? _

Ryou had to admit to himself that there wasn't anything unpleasant about having Marik walk next to him so closely that he could almost brush against him and practically feel him radiating excitement in warm pulses. Warmth . . . he even smelled warm, like mineral oil and honey.

"So do you live around here? Or are you just in the country with your dad on business?"

_Ah, wonder if it's the accent that tipped him off. Perceptive . . ._

"My dad and I are Britons, but we've pretty much been settled here for the past few years. I live in the apartment complex right over there," he said, pointing to the tall building. "Are you staying in a hotel or anything?"

Marik made an amusing displeased face. "I'm staying in the museum! Can you believe it? Yeah. Apparently the head curator's office is furnished and has plumbing, so you can live there if you're a complete workaholic with no life." His eyes gained a strange distant look, and the casual smile faded. "I mean, it's not selfish to want a life outside of work, is it? I can't imagine staying locked up in that museum, surrounded by relics that were only useful to people who've been dead for thousands of years. It would just be like another tomb."

Ryou wasn't completely sure what Marik meant by his last sentence, but sympathized. Somehow, he knew exactly how Marik felt; it wasn't responsibilities that caged him, but the fear and isolation that had dominated his life ever since he crossed paths with the spirit of the Millennium Ring. Sometimes those feelings closed in on him like dark walls, blocking his view of the future and forming labyrinthine tunnels that only resulted in locked gates and unanswerable questions.

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><p>AN: Sooo. Didn't warn ya about the angstshipping. I promise you, it has a purpose. All good things in time. I wrote a little bit about my goals for this fic on my profile, so it might answer some questions if you check it out. Aside from that, feel free to ask me shit in a review and I pinkie promise I will answer you.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Hello friends. I'm making pretty good headway, eh? I'd like to preface this chapter with a warning: there will be angstshipping. Before you judge, I swear it is relevant to the plot and not pointless fluff. Anywho, I'd like to thank lauradisenchanted, darkelf, and all the other cool kids who reviewed. It means lots to me!

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><p>"Oh, sorry, guess I got kinda angsty on you, didn't I?" Marik apologized. "Anyways, I'm really looking forward to checking out whatever you kids here in Domino do for fun. There's not much of a nightlife where I'm from, or very many people my age."<p>

"Ah, I can't really speak for the nightlife, but the entire city's pretty big on gaming. Which makes sense, considering Kaiba Corporation is based here. It's seems like there's a new promotion every month."

"Whoa! I knew that the company headquarters were in Domino City, but I didn't even think about something like regionally exclusive promotions. Do you get special edition limited releases and cool stuff like that?"

Ryou felt himself relax a little. Marik wasn't so different from him. More confident, admittedly, but he recognized when someone was all too grateful for a subject change. He had been in that position so many times himself. Sympathy welled within him for the kindred spirit.

"Yeah, it's pretty neat. A few weeks ago there were these special Duel Monster card packs that had a Blue Eyes Kuriboh. I think there were only fifty or something like that. Anyway, it was amusing because the CEO's favorite card is the Blue Eyes White Dragon, so it seems like something he would be against. The most popular explanation is that his younger brother set up the whole thing behind his back as a joke. Yugi would probably know more about it . . ."

"Yugi?"

"A good friend of mine. He's pretty into the gaming scene."

An idea occurred to Ryou.

"If you want, I could introduce you to my friends. They're all great people, and I'm sure we could help you have a good time while you're in the city."

At this, Marik lit up.

"That would be awesome! I mean, I don't want to impose or anything—"

"It's no trouble at all, Marik." Ryou gave him the warmest smile possible.

"You're so nice, Ryou. I can't imagine a group of people even as half as kind as you. Your friends must really be special."

Ryou felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and quickly became very interested in the sidewalk.

_There he goes again. Does he really mean what you think he does? Or are you just flattering yourself?_

Marik made a little noise and stopped walking.

"What is it?"

"Something just dripped on me . . ."

"Oh, that's right, it's supposed to—"

Before Ryou had finished his sentence, the heavens opened the floodgates as if determined to beat him to the punch. Rain, warm spring rain, quickly had the entire city polished to a high sheen. People ducked for cover, newspapers and jackets thrown over their heads. Ryou scampered under the awning of the closest storefront, and then noticed Marik hadn't moved. Instead, the curious teen had remained on the sidewalk, his arms slightly lifted and his face upturned. He was smiling, not broadly or impishly, but with a kind of delighted serenity as the rain soaked his hair and clothes. He gave a small chuckle, laughing at the darkened sky.

"Marik, um, I have an umbrella . . ."

"It never rains like this at home! This is brilliant! Does it rain like this all the time, Ryou?"

_Oh, that's right. Egypt wouldn't get that much rainfall, would it? Look at him, it's almost like he's never even seen rain before. Maybe he hasn't?_

Ryou opened his umbrella and ventured out from his shelter to stand next to Marik.

"I don't mean to sound ignorant, but have you seen rain before?"

"Not like this . . ."

He spoke so softly Ryou wasn't sure if he was meant to hear it or not. All around them, the loud rushing sound of thousands of raindrops pushing the air apart drowned out the rest of the world.

The entranced Egyptian looked down at himself, finally realizing there wasn't a dry spot on him and chuckling. Ryou smiled.

"Good thing the museum is that building across the street."

Marik looked over at him, the vague smile still on his face and a fey light dancing in his eyes.

"Suddenly, I'd really like to get out of the rain."

Without warning, he linked his arm through Ryou's and pressed against his side. Ryou became warm in a way that was less related to the other person's body heat and more to their proximity. It could all have been to maximize the space under the umbrella, but Ryou was seriously starting to suspect otherwise. They were standing so close that Ryou could make out the raindrops clinging to this ethereal creature's eyelashes, could feel the warm breath on his cheek.

"Hey! Let's run for it!"

"But the light hasn't changed—"

Marik had already taken off, sprinting madly in front of a taxi and dragging Ryou with him. Nearly tripping over each other, they burst through the front doors of the museum exhilarated, breathless, damp on Ryou's part, and soaked on Marik's. Still panting, they looked at one another and started laughing.

"Marik!"

A young woman with long, dark hair and flashing eyes was advancing towards them from one of the side offices.

"Oh snap . . ." Marik muttered under his breath.

"Where in the name of Isis have you been? You were supposed to be here hours ago! I'm going to be late for my flight!"

Marik bent slightly at the waist, looking up at her apologetically through wet bangs plastered to his face.

"I'm really sorry, sister! I got lost and had to rely on the kindness of strangers. This is Ryou, by the way. His father works with the museum and he helped me out."

She turned to Ryou, who was feeling extremely awkward.

"I apologize on my brother's behalf, considering he probably wasn't courteous enough to do so for himself. I am Ishizu Ishtar, Marik's older sister," she looked at her brother, "and apparently, his keeper!"

"Between you and Odion, I'm very well-kept, thanks."

"I've had just about enough, Marik. You wanted to be more independent, for us to leave you alone, but so far you're not giving me very many reasons to go along with this. You know how Odion was against you traveling unaccompanied. I expected a little more gratitude for siding with you."

_I'm sure Ishizu cares, but it's easy to see how Marik would feel stifled . . ._

"I didn't mean that, sister. You know how much I appreciate everything the two of you have done for me. I promise I'll work hard and try to be a better reflection of my family." Marik was speaking to the floor, embarrassed by being admonished in front of Ryou and genuinely remorseful.

Ishizu softened.

"I believe that's my taxi outside. Marik, I hope you enjoy your time here. I'll call the curator's office as soon as I'm back home." Her eyes flashed. "And you'd better pick up." She held out her hand. "Ryou, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm sorry our meeting must be so brief. Thank you for being so kind to my brother."

"L—likewise, and, um, it's no problem at all." He managed a smile in front of the intimidating woman.

As she paused at the door to open her umbrella, she called over her shoulder: "And Marik, for Ra's sake, put some dry clothes on!"

The still rain-soaked youth looked at Ryou and jerked his head in the direction of a discreet staircase, guarded by a door that read "Employees Only".

"Might as well go check out the new digs."

They padded up the stairs together, a silence that was almost bearable stretching between the two boys. Marik reached the door for the largest office on the floor and punched a code into the keypad next to the stainless steel handle. There was a quiet click as it unlocked, and he swung the door open. The office was not unlike a clean, well-polished box. Large glass windows in stainless steel casements filled the room with indirect light that reflected softly on the wooden maple floor. Raindrops snaked down the glass in ever-changing rivulets, creating little shadows in the spacious studio. Most out of place in the upscale office, a collection of mismatched hardtop suitcases was piled just inside the door.

"Alright, all my stuff's here!"

He turned to the loveseat that comprised part of what seemed to be the reception area and flopped down on it, face first.

"This day has been emotionally exhausting," Marik muttered into the upholstery.

Ryou gave a slight laugh, the tension finally broken.

"So that's your sister?"

"Yup. The one and only Ishizu Ishtar. We've also got Odion, he's the oldest. It's been just the three of us for a while, so sometimes . . ."

He paused, turning over onto his side and staring up at the ceiling.

"Sometimes it really feels like they're my parents."

_Poor bloke. It must be hard on his siblings, too, having to take up the mantle and raise him instead of just being brother and sister. I guess in cases like that they would sacrifice being on friendlier terms to try and be better guardians. It must be hard. And lonely._

"You said it was just you and your dad?"

"Yeah. Just the two of us."

A moment of understanding passed between them, of understanding what it was like to feel cheated out of a completed family, to realize that your life wasn't the average experience and constantly running into insensitive people who thought the appropriate response was tearful pity for some poor thing that hadn't got a mother, poor dear. People that didn't realize having different lives did not necessarily make them worse lives.

Marik sighed and rose into a sitting position, thumping the cushion next to him in invitation. Ryou sat down, noting in faint amusement that the seat was slightly damp. "Odion and Ishizu . . . they mean well, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I wish—okay pretty much all of the time, I wish they could be a little more independent. Our family's really old and we have all of these weird Stone Age traditions that they cling to like if they follow those rules they're at least doing something right. Like they're terrified they're going to screw up raising me, or like they already have."

Hurt darkened the boy's usually radiant face. Ryou wasn't sure what to do; if anything, he wished his father would be more involved with his life. He understood what it meant to have a demanding career, but unlike Marik's case, he felt like his father kept his distance in an attempt to let Ryou raise himself because he was afraid of interfering too much. They were in similar situations where the people in their lives had responded differently. Still, they both felt alone. He settled for resting a hand on Marik's shoulder. At any rate, it was something Ryou felt he himself would have appreciated. Marik looked up from the floor and their eyes met. Dark reddish-brown on light violet-blue, like chocolate and flowers. A spark passed between them, and for a brief moment Ryou wasn't sure what was about to happen.

Marik playfully nudged Ryou in the ribs with his elbow. "Well, I think a hot shower and dry clothes sound like the best thing in the world right now, so," he stood and stretched, "you're welcome to stick around . . ." the impish quality had returned, completely undeterred by anything weather, siblings, or life in general dared to throw at it. "Or maybe you've got things to do!" Marik tried and failed to look entirely innocent. Ryou smiled, and gave a surprised laugh as Marik ran his fingers through his wet hair and playfully flung the water at him.

He guiltily remembered the promise he had made to Yugi to call. He hoped they hadn't feared the worst and broken into his apartment or something like that. It did seem on the extreme side, but Ryou wouldn't put it past Yami. Any measure to alleviate his hikari's fears was a measure he was willing to take.

"Now that you mention it, I do need to get back and make sure my door hasn't been broken down. My friends might have stopped by without warning if they called and I didn't pick up . . . speaking of which, is there a number I can reach you at?"

"Yeah, you can just call the museum. Here, I'll write down the extension for this office." He found another business card and rummaged through the desk for a pen. "Here ya go! I'll be expecting to hear from you soon, okay?" He handed Ryou the card and winked.

_Okay, that was decidedly flirtatious._

Ryou wished his heart would stop taking it upon itself to speed up to such an uncomfortable pace. "Right! My friends and I will make sure you have a great time in Domino!" He suddenly felt bad for the foreign boy, alone in a strange city and still under the thumb of his family. Marik's good mood seemed to have evaporated somewhat, despite the friendly smile that he determinedly kept on his face. As he took the few short steps to the door, Ryou had a funny feeling that smile would disappear as soon as he walked out.

Ryou spun in the doorway, suddenly desperate to tell Marik that he wasn't alone.

"I know," he blurted.

The despondence on Marik's face was replaced with confusion. "What?"

"I know what it feels like to be trapped, to be isolated by something you never asked for."

Marik didn't meet his eyes, instead staring intently at clenched hands. Ryou paused, nervous, hoping he wasn't crossing a line with someone he had only met that day, and continued.

"But I think—" he faltered, "I think it gets better. Please, Marik. Don't lose hope that it will get better."

"Thank you," came the soft reply.

Ryou lingered a few seconds, unsure as ever.

Suddenly, Marik was out from behind the desk and directly in front of Ryou. Hands found the small of his back, the back of his neck. "Thank you," this time the words were whispered softly onto his lips. Ryou thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest as Marik looked at him through damp eyelashes. Their eyes met, earth on sky. The spark that had passed between them minutes earlier crackled into a bolt of lightening. It certainly felt like electricity must have surged through them as Ryou felt his arms wrap around the other boy, as Marik leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ryou's. His hands found Marik's lower back, a generous amount of bronze bared by the cropped jacket he was wearing. He pressed his fingertips into the heated, dewy skin until there was no space between their bodies, save for a few layers of sodden fabric. The way Marik was kissing him . . . he shuddered from head to toe as fingers wrapped into his hair, as teeth nipped gently as his lower lip. A small noise escaped his throat as the fingers pulled at his hair, the biting became more demanding, a curious hand found its way into his back pocket. He felt Marik smile into the kiss.

"Ohhh, I think he likes it," he purred quietly. He exhaled softly, hotly, onto Ryou's cheek, lips pausing to caress his jaw before turning his attentions to his neck.

The fingers drummed questioningly against the inside of his pocket.

"Well hello. Looks like someone beat me to you."

Ryou, who up until that point had been melting like an ice cube left on midday Egyptian sands, suddenly tensed.

He turned his head shyly, suddenly aware of what he had been doing. Marik sensed something was wrong and took a half-step back, giving Ryou space to breath.

_You've been hopelessly caught up in the moment, that's what you've been doing. What would your friends say? Ryou, snogging someone he just met? Not our Ryou._

"It's, um," his voice caught. He had no idea how to explain this without convincing Marik he wasn't right in the head. "It's really messed up . . ." His eyes stung.

"Hey, it's okay. No judgment, alright?" Comforting arms wrapped around his waist. Ryou clasped his wrists behind Marik's neck, burying his face in the tanned shoulder. "I never wanted it . . ." he was trying so hard not to get upset.

"Hey. Look at me."

Ryou looked up. The exotic countenance was still slightly flushed, the pupils dilated. "Things happen. I understand." The hands around Ryou's waist slid to rest on his hips.

Ryou nodded. "I'm sorry, Marik. I think it's best if I just go."

Several emotions flashed across the tawny face. Confusion? Jealousy? Hurt? They all seemed likely.

"Okay."

"I'll call you, I promise. I'll introduce you to my friends and we can show you the sights."

He promised, and he meant it.

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><p>AN: We're all still friends, right? Gooooood. Closing thoughts: my musings on my profile just clarify my goals for this fic, they don't spoil anything. Second, if you haven't checked out lauradisenchanted's Tunnels to Gates of White yet, DO SO. I keep encouraging her to write more instead of studying or practicing that silly piano . . . I think I'm starting to wear her down. Bakura will be in the next chapter, so hold on to your pantaloons!<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Hello friends. I'd like to give a huge thank-you hug to darkelf, MonaLisa, and of course, lauradisenchanted. As promised, this chapter has Bakura! Finally.

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><p>It was still raining when Ryou stumbled out of the museum. He absently held his umbrella up, not really taking care to shield himself from the merciless downpour. Moments earlier, he had been afraid that he was about to have a tearful breakdown on Marik's shoulder. Now, he just felt numb. Drained. The rain seemed to have washed everything out of him like dye out of fabric. Except, maybe, for a faint streak of anger that was extremely rare to the normally placid teen.<p>

_Bakura . . ._

Even when he wasn't forcing possession of Ryou's body, haunting his dreams, or otherwise invading his innermost privacies, the thief somehow still managed to sabotage his life. He'd found someone that seemed sane, energetic, and oh-so-attractive, and their first intimate moment had been stolen away.

_You really are a thief to the last, aren't you?_

Ryou shut the door of his apartment behind him and then slid down against it. He pulled his knees up to his chest and bowed his head. He hadn't turned the lights on, so it was dark. The only illumination came from the sizable dining area windows where the muddy orange light of a street lamp shone in, garbled by the deep navy of the ever-falling rain. His clothes and hair were still fairly saturated, but he didn't care. He just needed to take a moment, even if he was cold and dark and wet. He remained a sodden heap just inside the doorframe, slowly dripping onto the floor as if he was actually dissolving into the puddle that was gradually forming around him.

The phone rang.

_Answer it, Ryou._

_Get up. Answer the phone. It's probably your friends._

Still the phone rang.

_Answer the phone or Yami will break your door down and you'll be crushed because no normal person just stops being able to walk as soon as they cross the threshold._

He got up and walked over to where the phone was hanging on the kitchen wall. For a moment, he simply stared at it. He thought it was kind of funny how the phone would just hang there and make noise, blindly, unable to tell if anyone was ever going to answer it or not. The phone would just ring all alone in the darkness. It had to.

_What a strange thought._

He picked up. "Hello?"

"Ryou! Hey! It's me!"

"Hi, Yugi."

"You okay? Are you doing better?"

"Yeah. I went for a walk in the park and ended up getting rained on pretty hard. I'm just tired now. I'm sorry I didn't call earlier. I got caught up, um, helping someone from out of the country find the museum."

"Oh, wow! Where are they from?"

"He's from Egypt."

"Egypt . . ."

Ryou could guess what was running through Yugi's mind, and Yami's, assuming he was listening to the conversation.

"He doesn't know anyone in the city, so I offered to introduce him to you guys. I thought we could help him have a good time."

"That's good thinking, Ryou! It's nice to hear you made a new friend."

_Oh, did I ever. Let's just hope it's not something I'll live to regret, eh Yugi?_

"Well, I think I'm going to call it a day. Thanks for checking up on me."

"Anything you need, okay? Don't hesitate to ask."

Some warm affection for his friend finally broke through to his frozen consciousness. Yugi really was someone he could always count on. No matter how many times he woke up and couldn't remember the night before, probably no matter how many foreigners he made out with, or even how many evil spirits possessed him. What he felt for his fellow hikari . . . he could definitely call it love. Platonic, of course, but how did you express that over the phone?*

"Yugi . . . you're the best friend I've ever had."

"Ryou . . . thank you . . ." He could hear the emotion heavy in his friend's voice. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I promise I'm fine. I just wanted you to know that."

"Okay. Good night, Ryou."

"Good night, Yugi."

Talking to the other hikari had certainly taken the edge off of his darkened mood. It usually did. Knowing that someone had his back, someone that he could talk to about anything, allowed him to relax the muscles that had been tense ever since his amorous moment had been ruined. He actually relaxed enough to think about it, to replay the scene in his head, something he had been determinedly avoiding thus far. The damp clothing, the warm skin, the teasing fingers . . .

_That wasn't bad at all . . . in fact, it was quite nice. Who isn't cheered up by being kissed by a pretty stranger?_

His face grew pleasantly warm at the thought of seeing Marik again. He would definitely call him tomorrow, maybe even drop by the museum. Ryou realized this was the most adventurous he had been since . . . when? He couldn't be sure. The confidence to pursue a romantic interest had been beyond his grasp for a long time now.

_/My, don't we work fast?/_

Ryou gave a start, completely caught off-guard by the sudden voice.

_/Bakura?/_

_/No, it's the other voice in your head. Of course it's me, you fool!/_

It seemed to take a second to compose a temper threatening to flare out of control.

_/I was just admiring how quickly you can work when you want something. Or someone./_

_/What are you talking about?/_

Unpleasant laughter was his only answer, ringing in his head and in his ears. He felt the presence of his other self fade from his mind, leaving behind dark tendrils that whispered unsavory things and dissipated when he tried to focus on them. He shivered.

The complex fear twisting insidiously into his brain was briefly driven out by a very visceral hunger pang. The sushi he had purchased what surely must have been eons ago would be beyond any state fit for consumption by now. Finally flipping a light on, he sat on the kitchen counter and devoured an orange. The oil from the peel clung to his fingers; the smell reminded him of distant, happier days when he was younger, and all of this pain and confusion was beyond anyone's imagination. Especially his.

Ryou was still on edge after the disconcerting encounter with Bakura. He needed sleep, though. In earlier times, he had sought to fend off the spirit of the Ring through constant, caffeine-induced hyper vigilance. At first, it would work. Until he came crashing back to Earth on melted wings, and Bakura could take advantage of his weakened state more easily than he could natural sleep. Short of becoming a crack addict, Ryou had no choice but to maintain healthy biorhythms as best he could.

He lay awake for what felt like hours, watching the rainy shadows undulate on the wall, subconsciously watching for a single sinister shadow that might be out of place. His mind swirled. He was sure Bakura was displeased with him; the menacing voice dripping with disdain had told him as much, but about what? Talking to Yugi and Yami? Maybe it had been a bad idea to let his friends get involved.

_Don't think like that. Let your friends help. They care._

Yes, his friends meant well. He would refuse to apologize for having friends, for letting those friends in. What else, though? Kissing Marik? Why would that upset Bakura? How was it even any of his business? Bakura himself certainly did not hesitate to indulge in similar pleasures on borrowed time. Almost without thinking about it, his hand went to his neck. Ryou would be damned if Bakura thought he had any right to be upset about who Ryou spent time with. Yes, the thief was clearly in the wrong here. Few of his questions had actually been answered, but Ryou was left with a grim satisfaction that he had done nothing wrong. With those musings in his head, sleep finally touched its ever-elusive wand to his brow.

_/Busy day, hikari?/_

_/Mmm?/_

_/You seem absolutely knackered . . . must have had a busy day./_

_/Oh, I guess so. I felt kind of sick when I woke up. And it was raining. I met someone new . . ./_

_/Go on./_

_/He's from Egypt. I had to help him find the museum./_

_/What's he like?/_

_/Fun. He's pretty, you know, in a boy way. He knows it, too, he's really flirtatious. Although . . . he seemed lonely . . ./_

_/How so?/_

_/I'm not completely sure. I think his family isolates him. It doesn't seem like he had very many friends growing up./_

_/Not unlike your sweet little self, is he?/_

_/I guess you could say that. I don't want to talk about me right now . . ./_

_/I do./_

_/Wait . . ./_

A sinister pause.

_/I've been waiting thousands of years, poppet. I'm sure I can spare a moment more for you./_

Ryou gave a panicked start, no longer pleasantly hovering somewhere between deep, unconscious sleep and wakefulness. He was definitely awake now, and definitely not in his bedroom. His eyes opened to the darkness. It wasn't just a lack of light, but a breathing, pulsing, churning thing that surrounded him. Bakura was right in front of him, staring at him with so much intensity Ryou feared it might start to hurt. Burning eyes. Wild hair. Animal smile.

_/What . . . what do you want from me?/_

_/Hm? I thought you wanted to have a little chat. You were so keen to talk earlier./_

He was desperately trying not to panic. Where were they? This place seemed different from the Shadow Realm. It lacked the shapeless, stalking horrors that perpetually lurked on the edges of one's vision. It was simply . . . black. Empty.

_/Where are we?/_

Bakura frowned. He didn't look as if he was going to answer Ryou's question, but then-

_/This is where I am, always./_

_/I don't understand . . ./_

The darkness seemed to pulse in annoyance, and Ryou suddenly caught hold of a notion, grasped a single thread that would lead him into an enormous, complex tapestry that he might never fully comprehend the meaning or depth of. He looked down at his hands. He was able to see them, but there was no light source. He looked up at Bakura. His eyes were roving, little reflections flickering in them as he searched Ryou's face. Reflections of what? It was only the two of them, and the darkness.

He seized hold of the thread that had trailed so lightly across his mental perception. He wasn't physically here, and neither was Bakura. Light but no light source. If vision was just the result of the rods and cones in your eyes receiving photons that were bouncing off of particles, what was he looking at in a place devoid of illumination? If there wasn't anything for his senses to perceive, then there was only one source of information left to rely on: his mind. The fact that he was a sentient being having thoughts was all that was necessary to give him existence. So, he could see himself because his mind somehow existed in this place. The same principle must explain why he could see Bakura.

_/Is this . . . the Millennium Ring?/_

Bakura nodded slowly.

_/In a sense, yes. What you're experiencing right now is the magic of the Millennium Ring that preserved and imprisoned my soul for five thousand years. You might say that we are inside the Ring, but that is largely inaccurate. This is a separate plane entirely from any form of existence you have known./_

If another ancient Egyptian spirit had been explaining this to Ryou he might have felt relieved, perhaps even pleased, that he mostly understood what he was experiencing. But he was talking to Bakura, to the Thief King. His icy words only caused the shadows to swirl in a more agitated manner than usual. It filled Ryou with foreboding.

_/So you . . . live here?/_

The spirit's lips curled into a sneer.

_/If you want that badly to mock me by calling it living, yes./_

Ryou felt his face color. Was there an entirely separate etiquette one had to use so they didn't offend the ageless apparition that inhabited the priceless foreign relic they happened to own?

_/I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be insensitive. I promise the last thing I wanted was to insult you./_

Bakura only seemed to half-hear Ryou. His eyes had gained a distant look, almost mournful. No longer the burning, unnatural sepia, they had darkened to a more pensive brown. The furious flames that would sometimes rage behind those eyes had been replaced by century-old specters.

_/Not as sorry as I am . . ./_

Ryou bit his lip, or at least, imagined that he did. He briefly wondered if all and any pain he experienced here would have to be self-inflicted, on some level. After all, the only thing causing it was his mind. Pushing the thought aside, he focused on the situation at hand. This could be a good opportunity to try and reach out to the spirit. To combat his anger and frustration with the patient kindness Ryou was admittedly reluctant to use. It felt like going out into hurricane-strength winds shielded with a paper umbrella.

_/How can I make it up to you?/_

Bakura snapped out of his reverie.

_/What?/_

_/Let me make it up to you./_

_/Oh, so you don't have to feel bad? If that's the case you can make it up to me by wallowing in your own guilt for a few centuries. It may seem like a long time to you now, but you'll get used to it after a thousand years or so./_

Ryou realized this was getting them nowhere. Perhaps it was time to be less of a doormat and more of an obstacle.

_/Bakura. I wanted to talk to you in the hopes that we could reach some sort of understanding, but you're only working against yourself. Please, just level with me./_

The spirit raised an eyebrow, perhaps suspicious that this was too good to be true. After all, Ryou had been less than cooperative thus far in their relationship.

_/Fine then. I have a request for you./_

_/I'm listening./_

_/Stop fighting me. You fight me, every second of your every waking hour. It's exhausting both of us. You might be surprised how much more energy you would have to spare if you would just let me in. It's like you're digging your heels into the floor, pressing against a door with all you've got just to keep me out. It's foolish. Let me in, hikari./_

Ryou wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, or even what it might entail. He was beginning to regret giving the spirit such an open-ended offer, but surely Yugi would approve of his attempt. In any case, it was all he had to work with at the moment.

_/Well? Do we have a deal?/_

_/. . . I . . ./_

Suddenly scowling, Bakura appeared to lose all patience with Ryou.

_/No backing out now./_

He faded and Ryou lost consciousness, suddenly plunged into the deepest of sleeps.

* * *

><p>AN: Well? What do you think? The scene where Ryou learns a little about the Millennium Ring was very tricky to write. This is actually the third version! (The first two were very different) Anyway, I really need feedback for this chapter. Let me know if everyone was sufficiently in character, and if it even made any sense o_o; I'll do my very bestest to answer any questions!<p>

*I think the phrase "no homo" would suffice, but Ryou doesn't listen to The Lonely Island ;D


	6. Chapter 6

AN: So this chapter is a little shorter and took way too long to write. I'm really sorry, you guys. As always, special thanks to lauradisenchanted, MonaLisa, and darkelf for your faithful reviews! There's also a small surprise at the end of this chapter, so the shorter length is a good thing! -insert incredibly refined dick joke here-

* * *

><p>Life was so much easier for Bakura when Ryou was unconscious. He didn't even have to steal Ryou's body. His vulnerable host was no longer defending himself tooth and nail, and it was a simple thing to use his host's energy to manifest his own form. Not that he could go for a stroll in his own legs; that would mean leaving his energy source behind. Shoes were rather pointless as long as he had Ryou. He could at least be in the same room, and look, really look at his hikari. If he wanted, he could peer out from behind Ryou's eyes whenever he looked in the mirror and glimpse the face of his Light. But to him it was like the difference between seeing a shadow and seeing the actual object. Even if it seemed pointless, he still wanted to look at Ryou with his own eyes.<p>

Bakura sat on the side of the bed, pleased at the way his weight created lines in the covers.

The spirit, now solid, looked at Ryou softly, fondly. He smiled at the sleeping face and gently brushed aside some of the long hair. Oh, there was the bruise that had upset him so. It reminded him of his darkness, his yami.

_Best not to let it fade too much . . ._

He leaned forward, lips parted.

Ryou woke with a start. He felt disoriented by all of the light flooding into his bedroom. How long had he been asleep? The clock, mercifully, read 6:47 am. School, friends, routine all awaited him. Most boys his age would have groaned, rolled over, and gone back to sleep when faced with the ugly reality of a Monday morning, but not Ryou. He felt relieved. He got up and started getting ready for the day. After brushing his teeth, his confronted his reflection. Heart fluttering nervously, he pulled his hair back. The bruise was still there, of course. Such things didn't heal over a period of a few days, but . . . it didn't look any better. If anything, it looked worse. Admittedly, Ryou didn't have experience with this kind of thing. Giving his head a little shake, his hair falling back in place, he decided to put the issue out of his mind for the time being and locate his shoes.

Deeply breathing in the morning air and rolling his shoulders, he decided that he felt fairly confident about the day. He would see Yugi, who would be relieved to see him once again functioning like a normal member of society. The others would smile and wave at him, and be mildly interested in his weekend as he would be in theirs, but if he was being honest with himself they were only casual friends. They could only connect so much. As well as they might mean, he could never expect them to understand what he was going through. In fact, he could never know if they understood his life in a way he might fine meaningful. Caught up in this train of thought, he wondered if his nascent relationship with Marik would eventually take them both down that shadowy path that glinted darkly with stolen relics, with stolen moments of his life. It took an enormous effort to convince himself to temporarily give up on these notions, that he would confront the problem when it actually arose. With any luck, he would see Marik after school. His heart skipped a beat. Was it too soon in the day to call? Probably so. Someone so interested in the city's nightlife wasn't likely to be much of a morning person. He grabbed his book bag and stepped out of the apartment. As soon as he had done so, he realized he should have grabbed the business card so he could call Marik during lunch. Turning around to face the door, he remembered where the card was. Right next to his keys.

_Now what?_

_/Pick the lock./_

_/Bakura!/_

_/Must we go over this every time? Yes it's me! Now just pick the lock./_

_/I don't know how to do that./_

_/Untrue. I know, so you know. I could even do it for you, if you like./_

_/So . . . that wasn't just a dream, was it . . ./_

_/With me, hikari, no./_

_/. . ./_

_/You'll be late for school if you just stand there deliberating./_

_/I'll do it./_

_/Just relax. Don't think about it, just focus on making it happen . . ./_

Without any tangible thought process, Ryou rifled through his possessions until he found a paperclip. He bent it into an S-shape and then broke it in half, bending the separate pieces open until he had two L-shapes. He stuck one in the lock, holding the other piece of metal against the piece in the lock so they were crook-to-crook. Using the free piece to apply pressure on the one in the lock, he tested the unseen mechanisms until the pins inside the lock gave way and he heard a satisfying click. The entire process happened without him really registering what was going on, or how he knew what he was doing.

_/I just picked a lock. I've never done that before. I don't know how./_

_/Not bad for your first time./_

Ryou sensed something that might have been a seriously misdirected sense of pride from the thief, but the presence quickly faded from his conscious mind. It was unnerving, really, how Bakura could sneak up on him like that and leave just as quickly. It made it nearly impossible to tell what he was thinking, or how much he had observed.

Grabbing the business card and (apparently not entirely necessary) keys, Ryou left once again and hurried to school. Shoes pounding the pavement, thoughts raced through his head as he tried to face the reality that his conversation with Bakura had been no dream. He had actually spoken with the spirit of the Millennium Ring, and it wanted to be involved in his life. Was he remembering that right? Then again, when Bakura had actually helped him get into the apartment, there was no mocking laughter, no terrifying anger. Wait—Bakura had _helped_ him. When had that ever happened? If this is what he had in mind when he asked Ryou to let him in, they might just be able to make this work. Or the spirit could simply be biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash more of his evidently inherent wickedness. Ryou nervously ran his fingers through his hair, waiting impatiently for the light to change.

At school, he joined the throngs of fellow students in the hallways. Everyone was babbling about what they had done over the weekend; where they went, who they had spent time with, what homework they had or hadn't done. One girl was miserably bemoaning how difficult a research essay had been. A million and one little human worries, the trivial kind high schoolers must suffer, were flung through the air at the speed of sound. Ryou heard them all with unflinching indifference.

_Heh. I bet nobody could guess what I did with my weekend. Not even me._

It did not occur to the soft-eyed youth to wonder when he had become so jaded.

Through the crowds, he spotted someone with gravity-defying, multicolored hair.

"Yugi?" he called.*

"Ryou!"

The slight boy pushed through the obnoxious students, wincing slightly as his foot was trod on. Finally reaching Ryou, panting slightly, he raised a hand in greeting with one of his famous smiles.

"Hey! How's it going?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Mondays, right?" Ryou desperately hoped he sounded as nonchalant as possible.

_Not that I'm entirely sure what the usual even means anymore . . ._

"Have you, um, made any progress?"

It sounded like Yugi was not buying the act. Normally, Ryou could fake, well, normalcy. However, not this particular day, with this particular friend.

Concern creased the other teen's brow, clearly nervous about upsetting his friend. Yugi was very sensitive to other people's feelings, almost to a fault. Actually, it pretty much was to a fault. Those with less than pure intentions had taken advantage of his kindness on more than one occasion, and he was sometimes bullied by those who didn't think boys should have emotions or care about other people like they had emotions, too. At least, until Yami came along. The spirit had given Yugi much needed confidence, as well as invaluable advice. And woe unto those who attempted to harm the pharaoh's ward . . .

Ryou chewed on his lip, trying to articulate exactly what had passed between himself and Bakura.

"I'd like to believe so. We kind of had a conversation. One that didn't involve yelling or threats."

_Or tears._

"That sounds good! Did—"

Yugi was cut off by the bell, loud and tinny overhead.

"You'll have to tell me more in class!" he shouted over the flux of students rushing to their respective classrooms, draining out of the halls as if some sort of extra-dimensional plug had been pulled.

Ryou dropped his book in the chaos and knelt to retrieve it. From this lowered vantage point, the building appeared to be populated entirely by shoes.

Class, unfortunately, did not allow opportunity for Ryou to relate his first foray into the art of picking locks under the guidance of the thief king. He considered passing a note, but wondered with dry amusement what the teacher might think upon reading it if such a note was intercepted. Yugi, in any case, seemed rather distracted today. Some people might read that spacey look on his face as the general expression of a teen champion who was thinking about Duel Monsters strategies more than anything else, but Ryou knew Yugi well enough to recognize when he was having a conversation with Yami. Suppressed emotions flickered across his face, and he wasn't tapping his pencil in impatience as the teacher continued on about polynomials. Ryou sort of liked algebra; most of his favorite games (those involving role-playing, simulation, and time management) were simply about manipulating a few key formulas, once you stripped away the window dressing. Yugi was probably equally familiar with the mathematics employed in various games, which was why neither of them was focusing particularly faithfully on the lesson.

It was a relief, then, when they were instructed to pair off and check each other's homework. Yugi and Ryou turned their desks to face each other and swapped papers. Without bothering to turn to the answer key in the textbook, they resumed their conversation.

"So."

"So. Well, I did what you suggested and tried to communicate. He didn't answer me at first, but he actually consented to talk to me after a while. I still can't really tell what he wants. Whenever I think about the different times we've interacted, he seems to alternate between condescension, bitterness, and almost being nice. It's . . . frustrating. I never know which side I'm going to see, so I can't even steel myself. Other than avoiding contact entirely."

Ryou looked sideways, not wanting to meet Yugi's gaze. Not wanting his friend to see that reaching out to the spirit was taxing him almost as much as fighting him.

"Which we've established may not be the best route."

"All you can do is make an effort," Yugi said softly. Those large eyes were probably shining in a way that would make even Seto Kaiba consider dedicating his life to philanthropy.

He chanced a glance back over. Yes they were.

"Almost being nice?" Yugi asked, getting the conversation back on track.

"I can't think of a better way to word it. For example, I locked myself out of my flat this morning. He randomly spoke up and told me that if he knew how to pick a lock, I knew how to pick a lock. So I pulled out a paperclip and simply broke into my flat."

"Wow."

"Right? Then he just said something along the lines of 'Not too shabby' and let me be."

"It almost sounds like when Yami first started helping me with duels. There was nothing conscious about it; I just somehow knew what to do. And then there would be this faint sense of approval from him . . . oh, hang on."

He seemed to turn inwards for a minute. He was probably giving Yami a chance to talk; it was far too risky for them to trade places in the middle of class, as someone was bound to notice. Then again, people could be surprisingly unobservant.

"Yami says that this was kind of a precursor to us interacting in a more face-to-face manner. I had to become more aware that there was a separate presence within me first, but he could still sense what was happening to me. Um. Did that make sense?"

He made an apologetic face. It was probably difficult to paraphrase the pharaoh's eloquent speech.

"He says he can explain it later, if you need. Sorry."

Ryou felt a twinge of sympathy for his friend. While Yami and Yugi were generally a very balanced pair, sometimes he wondered if Yugi didn't unfairly compare himself to the ever-composed Spirit of the Puzzle. Attempting to stay on topic, he remembered how Bakura seemed pleased at his success.

" You're fine. Er, is it . . . too optimistic to say that I'm making headway?"

"Not at all! Although, I wouldn't encourage you to make a habit of picking locks," he said with a wry smile.

"Right . . . not exactly a healthy way to bond, is it?"

He morbidly wondered what the thief would consider an enjoyable outing. Mugging someone at knifepoint, perhaps.

"Hey, cheer up. You want to hear something kind of funny?"

Ryou nodded.

"Yami won't like for me to tell you this, but he'll manage. Here goes. You know how you can count cards in some games? Well, it's pretty severely frowned upon, and in my opinion goes against the point of the game: leaving things to chance. Yami believes otherwise, and thinks that if you have the ability you shouldn't limit yourself. It's kind of hilarious and terrible at the same time whenever I play games like blackjack, because he's watching the whole time and counting cards. I try to ignore it, but he gets really worked up if I start to make a wrong move. Can you imagine what it would be like at a casino? The facial monitoring technology wouldn't work because I wouldn't actually be doing anything wrong!"

This did cheer Ryou up somewhat, as he was imagining what it would be like to take the king of games to a casino.

"Cor! You could actually make money doing something like that, couldn't you?"

Yugi smiled and shrugged.

"It's a lot less strategy than I like, though. And anyway, who would let me into a casino? Although I doubt Yami would get carded."

His face went blank momentarily, and then he returned to the rest of the world with a snicker.

"Yami asks me to tell you that he resents all of that."

* * *

><p>AN: Want to have some fun? Re-read this chapter and replace every instance of "shoes" with "hoes"! I read a sentence aloud to Laura where I forgot the crucial "s" and we thought it would be amusing. Then I went through and added the word "shoes" a few more times solely for that purpose. You're welcome.<p>

*speaking of Laura, anyone who hasn't read Tunnels to Gates of White needs to. You will run across some hilarity involving Ryou recognizing Yugi that I referenced oh-so-subtly. Bah ha ha ha!


End file.
